


If It Tastes Like Honey

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: McFly
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Clubbing, Community: kink_bingo, Crossdressing, Frottage, Grinding, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Safer Sex, teenage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 11:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dougie likes wearing women's clothes. This works out quite well, since Harry likes men wearing women's clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It Tastes Like Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Dougie is of the legal age of consent in his country, but under eighteen, hence the 'underage' note.

Dougie is fourteen when he steals a pack of knickers from Asda and tries them on in front of his mirror at home. They’re pink and white, with a little pink bow at the front, and he stares at his reflection, turning this way and that. They’re sort of tight-hugging in ways his usual underwear isn’t, but … he realises that it feels quite nice. Comfortable somehow, though his balls are a little too supported for his liking. Still, there’s something —

He realises abruptly that he’s kind of getting off on how he looks, how the knickers feel, and immediately takes them off and stuffs them at the back of a drawer. He pulls his ordinary clothes on and grabs his guitar, determined to write the manliest song it is possible to write.

Six months later, one of his lizards wanders too far while he’s on the phone to a mate, so he has to turn his room upside down looking for her. He eventually locates her under his bed, experimentally licking a dust ball, and carefully lifts her out and away, back to the tank and her water bowl. He makes a cursory effort at tidying up, at least to get his room back to the state it was in that morning (because his mum has already shouted at him twice in as many days about cleaning his room herself if it doesn‘t improve, and he can’t quite remember everywhere he’s hidden porn), and shoves some things in one of the drawers he hides things in.

There, behind two issues of Playboy and a discarded t-shirt, under the belt he thought he’d lost, is the box of knickers from Asda. He shuts his door, takes it out of the drawer, and tries another pair on.

He’s grown more, filled out, in the past six months. He stares at his reflection, transfixed by the way his dick looks, curled into his body by the shape of the underwear. Slowly, he reaches past the waistband and pulls it up, giving it a squeeze. He’s fifteen, it doesn’t need much encouragement, and he cautiously wanks, watching how it looks with his dick and his fist rising out of a pair of girl’s knickers.

He likes it so much it’s a bit of a struggle to stay silent. He manages, though, and gets cum on them but decides that it’s worth it and he’ll wash it off in the bathroom in a minute. First he just stands there, hand still curled around himself, watching his reflection as though it’ll do something particularly sexy.

He starts thinking about how he could get a dress without anyone knowing.

~

He knows, when he agrees to join a band that already (sort of almost definitely) has a record contract, and being in that band means all living together, that he is going to be found out. Once they’ve moved in — and he and Harry have settled into a routine of watching films together of an evening, which Tom joins when he’s back from his and Danny’s holiday — the patterns of their friendships start to emerge.

Dougie notices early on that the others like him to strip. Specifically, they like to strip him, and after several incidents that devolve into fights, he realises that they’re doing it as a sign of affection. Maybe they all fancy him, maybe it’s that he’s the youngest so they’re being annoying older brothers, maybe it’s neither and that’s just how they conduct close friendships, but either way, Dougie already knows that these are friends he’s going to have when he’s fifty. If he can’t trust them with his inclinations, then he can’t trust anybody with them.

He does not, however, want them to find out one day when they’re stripping him that, oh, right, yeah, the reason he doesn’t want them to take off his boxers is that he’s wearing lingerie under them. So he doesn’t; he keeps his knicker collection hidden, and stops going into Ann Summers shops and wishing he had enough money or the security wasn’t so good. He gets quite close to the guys, staying up until sunrise talking to Danny in the garden, laughing with Harry about whatever film is on telly at two in the morning, having lightsaber fights with Tom using anything vaguely phallic as weapons. They reach a point of telling each other their secrets, and that’s when Dougie decides that he will tell them.

“Hey,” he broaches the subject one Friday afternoon after rehearsals, “let’s go out tomorrow night and hit some clubs dressed as something mad.”

“What, you mean like, wear a big hat and take a teacup?” Tom throws the nearest cushion at him, just because. Dougie throws it back.

“No, just like, something mental. I could get a wig and a dress or something.”

“Sounds like a laugh,” Danny grins at them. He’s hanging off the sofa upside down while Harry throws peanuts for him to catch in his mouth. He’s missed eight so far.

“I know where you could get some boots and a wig, if you want them,” Harry says to Dougie. “A mate of mine’s a drag queen, he has quality stuff.”

“A mate of yours is a drag queen?” Danny laughs. “You’ve got some right weird mates.”

“Oi, shut up, he’s got a fantastic voice.” Harry throws the next peanut hard at Danny’s chin. This, of course, is the best of Danny’s catches. “So if you want to, yeah?” Harry says to Dougie. “I could hook you up.”

Dougie’s breath catches in his throat, the way it does sometimes around Harry. His eyes are just … really, really blue. “Thanks,” he says.

He ends up going shopping with Harry the next afternoon, Harry and his drag queen mate, whose name is Cecil, because his parents apparently hated him. When he's getting dressed for it, Dougie looks at his underwear and decides today is a good day to put on some knickers under his boxers. He chooses the frilly black ones, because he always feels extra good in those, and they’re his only pair of knickers with a pouch for his dick. After some searching in the various piles of clean and not-clean clothes in his room, he finds his black boxers, sniffs to make sure they’re fresh enough, and yanks them on quickly in case someone walks in.

Listening to Harry and Cecil talk is sort of like watching Monty Python, they’re so posh. They talk about cricket, and people called “Bunty” and “Withers” and “old Fart-Horse”, and Dougie just people-watches with one ear on the conversation. Sometimes it does sound normal, but Harry’s accent gets ridiculous around people he went to school with, so even ordinary things sound posh as hell to Dougie.

“Your friend doesn’t say much,” Cecil says, after assuring them that the wig shop he uses is just down the street.

“He’s shy,” Harry says after a pause.

Dougie gives Cecil a smile, trying to make it friendly, but from Cecil’s crumbling-into-endeared face, it probably made it to scared and stuck there. “Bless,” Cecil says, patting Dougie on the shoulder. “I don’t bite. Unless you ask nicely,” and he and Harry laugh in a conspiratorial way as they walk into the shop.

Dougie focuses on the wigs, and not at all on the mental image of Harry biting his neck that is trying to flood his brain and get him uncomfortably hard. It doesn’t help that he can feel his panties against his dick, and that always gets him off a little bit on its own. Cecil helps him choose a suitably this-is-a-silly-outfit-for-a-night-out wig, which is all Dougie wants since he isn’t really into wearing the full costume in other situations. In the next shop, Cecil helps him find some killer boots that are actually quite comfortable, and gives Dougie several tips on foot care during and after wearing heels. This, Dougie is very interested in, so takes mental notes.

“Isn’t he good?” Harry beams at Cecil, like he’s showing Dougie off. “He’s very good at doing what you tell him,” and suddenly their eyes are locking and Dougie feels a downwards rush at the thought of really, deliberately doing what Harry tells him. He swallows.

“I’ll be needing a dress,” he says, breaking eye contact with Harry before he blushes his entire face off and has to hide his groin behind the nearest object.

“Come with me,” Cecil says, “I know just the place for you.”

They make their way down several smaller streets, then down a few side-streets, past tiny restaurants that romance novel clichés spend their anniversaries in, until Cecil ducks through a door. The bell above it jangles, and Harry and Dougie follow him in.

“Cecil!” A large, burly man proclaims, grasping him about the shoulders and beaming. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“This young gentleman,” Cecil shifts aside so that the guy who is probably the shop owner can see him, “is in want of a dress for a _fabulous_ night on the town. Something that goes with white and yellow.”

“Let me look at you,” the man beckons, and Dougie steps nervously forward. He grabs for Harry’s wrist as he passes, and closing his fingers around it calms the erratic beat of his heart.

“This is my uncle Bob,” Cecil says proudly. “He can do _wonders_ with a dress, let me tell you.”

“Ah yes,” Bob nods, looking Dougie up and down. “Will you be wanting this dress just for a night out, or for everyday wear as well?”

Dougie shifts uncomfortably.

Bob nods. “Of course, of course, come on through. Let me show you some things.”

Dougie grasps Harry’s wrist tighter, and Harry says, “You don’t mind if I tag along, do you, Doug?”

“No,” Dougie says, relaxing his grip. They follow Bob into the back room, which is clearly meant as a makeshift changing space, while Cecil examines the fabrics on display in the shop. Bob indicates an upturned crate for Harry to sit on, while he gets out a tape measure and does some more looking Dougie up and down.

“Do you have a colour preference?” Bob asks, noting measurements down on a pad of paper as he goes.

“I like black,” Dougie says before he can stop himself.

Bob nods. “Black is a staple, naturally,” he mutters, and puts the tape measure away. “Let me just see what I can rustle up.” He disappears behind a door, probably to the stock room or something, and silence descends.

“Have you thought about this before?” Harry asks, after a few moments of awkwardness.

“Er,” Dougie hedges. “Sometimes.”

“You know it’s okay, right? None of us would mind.” Harry reaches out to take his hand. Dougie curls his fingers around Harry’s.

“Danny said it was weird,” he points out.

“He’s always saying my mates are weird,” Harry shakes his head. “He wouldn’t think _you_ were weird.”

Dougie doesn’t say anything, and a moment later Bob is back, a pile of fabric in his hands.

“Now this,” he hangs up a pink dress that looks about knee-length, “is to go with white and yellow, like Cecil said. This,” he hangs up a somewhat shorter black dress next to it, “is a little black number that would suit you. And this,” he hangs up a light blue long dress, “is just in case you wanted to try something different.” He smiles. “I’ll be in the shop, shout if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Dougie says, and then Bob is gone, the door closed behind him. There’s no window in the door, which is behind the counter, so no danger of anyone seeing him.

“Do you want me to leave?” Harry asks, standing up.

“No, um — I might need zipping up.” It’s not like Harry hasn’t seen him naked before, and really, if there’s any one of them he’d want to know something secret about him first, it’d be Harry. He was the first of them to know Dougie’s bi, he was the first of them to know Dougie wanks five times most days, he should be the first to know Dougie’s a crossdresser.

“Okay.” Harry sits on the crate again, and Dougie turns half away to take his clothes off. When he gets to his boxers he figures now or never, why not just _show_ him, so he takes those off too. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and glances to see Harry’s eyes widen. “Oh,” he says. “Do you wear those a lot? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“I don’t mind,” Dougie says, reaching over for the pink dress. “I haven’t since I moved in, but before that, yeah, a lot.”

“Why haven’t you?” Harry leans forward, eyes back on Dougie’s, though they keep flicking down.

“You guys like to strip me,” is all Dougie says.

It takes Harry a few seconds, but then he exhales, “Ohhhh. Er. Sorry.”

Dougie shrugs. “It gets annoying, but whatever. You mean well.” He slips the dress on over his head. “Zip me up?”

He feels Harry’s hands on his back, aligning the zip teeth, and he tries very hard not to shiver. He turns around. “Well?”

Harry has an odd look in his eyes. For a second, it feels like tension crackles between them, and then he says, “Good for a night out.”

“Right. Next one,” and he turns around again. Harry’s fingertips linger, following the zipper going down his spine, and Dougie’s mouth opens slightly. He should _not_ feel this turned on just from a mate helping him change. (He’s sixteen years old and fancies the pants off Harry, though, so maybe he absolutely should. Then again, maybe Harry is _a mate_ and this is a bad bad situation of horribleness.)

Harry steps away. Dougie pulls the pink dress off and hangs it up again. He gets self-conscious as he’s reaching for the blue dress, and glances back to see Harry definitely staring at his ass. Face going hot, Dougie grabs the dress and holds it above his head.

He’s tried on a few of his mum’s and sister’s dresses while they were out, and his favourite bit of trying them on has always been holding them up high and letting them cascade onto him. It took some practice to hold them right so they fall just so, but he can do it now and it’s always somehow really satisfying. It doesn’t turn him on, not like the thought of wearing his own dresses some day, it’s just … it makes him feel good. This dress is long, and very silky. Dougie lets the folds of it find their places and presents his back to Harry for zipping.

The zip goes up slowly, slowly, with a lot more touching Dougie’s bare skin than necessary. It does nothing at all to dispel the tension in the room. Dougie turns around once everything is in place, and says, “How do I look?”

“Stunning,” is Harry’s answer. He means it. Then he grins, and the tension breaks. “You could go to the opera in this.”

“Shut up,” Dougie turns around again. Wearing this one and the pink one hasn’t turned him on by themselves, just made him feel sort of warm around the edges, but he likes the feeling anyway. Harry’s fingers follow his unzipping, which is not quite as slow as before; as his fingers brush the small of Dougie’s back, the tension fills the room again. _Fuck_ , Dougie thinks on a shaky inhale. He pulls the dress over his head and concentrates on hanging it up and grabbing the last one.

He realises, as he slips the black dress on, that he saved this for last because he knew looking at it that it would be the kind of dress he’d get off on wearing. He was right. It shows a bit of thigh, it settles around his body nicely, and its design doesn’t make a thing of him being a bloke wearing a dress. None of the three have, but this one feels especially _good_ to wear. Harry runs his fingertips down Dougie’s sides before zipping him up, touching his back every step of the way, pausing to touch his shoulder blades and his waist. When the zip is finally completed, Dougie is very aware of how shallowly they are both breathing.

There is a pause, in which Harry continues to brush his fingertips over Dougie’s shoulders, and then a soft noise and Harry is planting soft kisses on his neck, hands splayed on his hips. Dougie exhales and spins around and they’re kissing, whimpering into each other’s mouths, Dougie grasping at Harry’s hair and shirt and neck and arms, everywhere he can reach. Harry pulls Dougie closer, one hand clenching in his hair, the other stroking at the skirt of the dress. Dougie hooks a leg around him so that Harry can run his hand under the skirt, up Dougie’s thigh, beginning to stroke at the knickers when there’s a knock on the door.

“You all right in there?” comes Bob’s cheerful voice.

“Yes — yes, fine — he’s just getting changed back,” Harry calls. His voice sounds even, but his hand is still on Dougie’s thigh, and Dougie buries his face in Harry’s chest to stifle a tiny groan.

They break apart and Dougie gets dressed again. He buys the black dress, avoiding Harry’s eyes, and tries to act normally for the rest of the day.

He gets ready to go out that night — white boots, blonde wig, sexy black dress, a small make-up kit he’d accrued over his shoplifting phase from the things Jazz hadn’t wanted — and parades in the living room.

“Give us a twirl,” Danny yells, wolf whistling. Giovanna, who is going to have a quiet night in with Tom, tells him he looks lovely.

He and Harry don’t really speak much on the way to the club. They both talk to Danny, who chats away nineteen to the dozen about the clubs they could go to, which DJs would be playing where at what time, and where the best girls are usually to be found. They hit the first club, which isn’t really getting going yet, but Harry declares the night young and buys the first round. Twelve men hit on Dougie in the hour they stay there, none of whom are Harry, but one of whom is quite cute.

“Come on — time for the next place!” Danny yells as they leave, and Dougie and Harry whoop in unison. The three of them head off, arm in arm, and freeze half to death outside the next club for twenty minutes before they get in. “Cheer up,” Danny says, once he realises that Harry isn’t meeting Dougie’s eye, “it’s not that bad.”

“You’re so northern,” Harry pokes him in the arm.

“Yeah, I am,” Danny grins. “Here, check out that lass.” A group of girls walk past as he says this, though which one has caught his eye, Dougie couldn’t say. They’re all fit.

“Nice, think I’m going to like it here,” he says, and Harry catches his eye for the first time.

“Bit of girl-on-girl, eh?” he grins, and Dougie forces himself to laugh.

They get in a minute later, and the temperature change is helped by the corridors before they get to the club rooms themselves. Dougie gets the drinks in, Danny immediately starts chatting up as many women as possible, and Harry … for once doesn’t instantly score. Instead, he puts Dougie’s drink down for him, tells Danny to watch their bottles, and leads Dougie onto the dance floor.

They get lost in a mass of bodies. Harry keeps hold of one of Dougie’s hands until they find enough space to dance, and then pulls him close. It’s too loud to talk, but it seems like Harry is going to try when he pushes the wig aside and leans down to Dougie’s ear. Dougie is not at all expecting lips on his earlobe — lips and then _teeth_. Harry tugs gently, and Dougie’s knees nearly give out. Harry nuzzles slightly and Dougie tilts his neck to expose it; he feels Harry’s tongue, and then gentle bites, and grips Harry’s sides. The best thing about being in a club, Dougie decides, is that you can moan as loudly as you want and nobody will hear you.

Harry trails kisses after the line of bites. Dougie can’t quite seem to close his mouth except to say, “Mmmm.” His hands find Harry’s hair but Harry doesn’t take the hint; he kisses along Dougie’s jaw agonisingly slowly. Dougie wants to just _grab_ him and kiss the living _daylights_ out of him, but something keeps him still. Finally, after what feels like far too fucking long for anything, Harry runs his nose along Dougie’s neck and that breaks both of them. They’re kissing a second later, grasping at each other’s clothes, giving a cursory sway to the music but mostly just making out, hard and fast and insistent.

One song, maybe two, passes before they reach the point of difficult return; Dougie doesn’t have enough room to hitch his leg up and he wants Harry’s hands on his thighs again _now_ , but Harry slips one hand up his skirt at the back and squeezes his ass and that’s half as good. Dougie groans into his mouth, and Harry pulls away.

“If we keep going,” he mouths with a grimace, “things will get awkward.”

Dougie nods. They fight their way back out of the dance floor, Dougie trying desperately to make his boner go away, to where Danny is still looking after their drinks.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” he greets them. “D’you want to dance?” he asks the girl at his side. She nods, so Danny says to Harry, “Hold on to our drinks for us,” and takes her by the hand into the fray.

Dougie sips his drink, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “When I said awkward,” Harry says after a couple of minutes of a fairly good song have gone by, “you know what I meant, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Dougie nods. “We’re in a band, we’re mates, obviously it’d be awkward.”

“Oh.” Dougie looks up to see Harry’s face fall. “I just meant, the way things were — well, the way I was hoping they were going, it’d get messy. _Actually_ ,” he waves a hand non-expressively, “messy.”

Dougie stares at him for a second and then gets it. “Oh.” He looks at his drink, hoping he isn’t blushing. “Oh.”

“But, I mean, yeah, you’re right, of course. We’re mates.” Harry looks away and lifts his bottle to his lips. There’s lipstick on them, Dougie notices, unless it’s the lighting.

“Right,” says Dougie, screwing up the one thing in the last year he’s wanted nearly as much as a recording contract. “Obviously, so,” and he waves his hand in a gesture just as expressive of nothing as Harry’s had been.

“Yeah,” Harry says, and then they don’t say anything for a while besides how much they like whichever song is playing.

Things for the rest of the night aren’t _tense_ , exactly, but they’re definitely awkward. Danny leads a singing match on the way home; they’re all buzzed enough to find it funny when they keep increasing the volume, but aren’t so drunk they can’t get through the door. The house is quiet, and Danny pours himself a pint glass of water. He salutes them and says, “Right, I’m off to mix a track. There were some great beats tonight.” He grins at them. “Don’t make too much noise, eh? You know what Tom’s like.”

They laugh loudly enough that it probably will have woken Tom and Gi, which was pretty much the point, so Danny heads upstairs whistling happily.

Harry holds two glasses under the cold tap for a minute, handing one to Dougie. “He’s in an abnormally anti-social mood tonight,” he says.

“For Danny, yeah, that was like he’d flicked us the Vees.” Dougie sips his water. “I’m going to get this stuff off my face, d’you want to watch a film?”

The awkwardness leaves as soon as Harry smiles at him so much his eyes crinkle.

Dougie takes his boots, wig and make-up off, then looks down at himself for a minute. In the end, he leaves the dress on, and the stockings he’d worn partly for warmth, and the knickers. He downs the rest of the water and goes downstairs to curl up next to Harry on the sofa.

Harry immediately puts his arm around him, pulling him closer. “So you like wearing this stuff just generally, yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Dougie answers. “Things like this, anyway.” He waves a hand at the dress, then lifts a bit of the skirt so Harry can see the stockings and knickers.

“Oh fuck,” Harry breathes. He blushes immediately afterwards. “I mean — just — sorry, just. It’s really,” he hovers a hand an inch above the knickers, “really sexy.”

“You do know I’m not a girl, right?” Dougie blurts out, because his brain wants him never, ever to get laid, it seems.

“Yeah, I did have those basics nailed down.” Harry looks at him incredulously.

“Just — you know, earlier — when you said girl-on-girl — I mean, you’re only into me because I look like a girl —”

“No,” Harry stops him. “Actually, I’ve fancied you for a while, you’re just — really, _really_ sexy in a dress.” He shrugs. “I’m kind of into that. Guys who look good in women’s clothes.”

“Really?” Dougie knows there’s a lot more hope in his voice than he should be letting on, but fuck it all, he likes Harry _so much_ and they might just be great together and he _actually has a chance_ , this is the best night ever.

Harry kisses him softly. “Really,” he murmurs, and this time the kissing starts off slow, really nice and sweet. Tingles spread out over Dougie’s entire body, until they’re kissing deeply, tongues exploring each other’s mouths, hands making slow progress over whichever parts of the other’s body they can reach.

Dougie shifts around until he can swing one leg over Harry’s lap; the kiss doesn’t break, and then Dougie is straddling him and Harry’s hands are on his thighs again. ( _Yes_ , says a voice in his brain, elongating the _s_ sound, _finally!_ ) The kiss starts becoming faster, more heated, as Harry’s hands wander over Dougie’s thighs, his ass, his back, and every movement turns Dougie on. He whimpers and starts grinding hard against Harry.

“Okay,” Harry breaks it, “I know exactly how expensive that dress was, and I don’t know about the knickers but I don’t want you to ruin those either, can we move this to my room?”

“Fuck yes,” Dougie nods.

They bump into a few walls on the way there, and do their best to be quiet about it but there’s some nervous giggling because Dougie is allowed to be nervous when he might just be about to lose his virginity. “You okay?” Harry asks, once he’s shut the door.

“Yeah,” Dougie nods, “I’m just — I’ve never —”

Harry’s eyes go wide. “Oh, you mean — this is your first —”

Dougie says, “Yeah,” and suddenly feels really, really awkward.

Harry steps up to him, tilts his chin, and says, “Relax. Just tell me what you’re okay with doing.”

“Well, I mean, I’ve done stuff,” Dougie says, voice small. He tries clearing his throat but he can’t help sounding apologetic. “Just not … I don’t even know what you wanted to do,” he finishes with an attempt at a laugh.

Harry kisses him softly. “I fancy you,” he whispers, “like mad. I want to do whatever you’re comfortable doing.”

“I don’t mind,” Dougie murmurs. “Really, I’m okay doing whatever you want.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Harry says, voice low. “What if I wanted to do something really kinky?”

“Depends on the kink,” Dougie answers. “Could be something I like.”

Harry groans softly and backs him to the bed, kissing him somewhere between soft and urgent. “What if I wanted you to keep the dress on?” he whispers, as Dougie feels mattress hitting the backs of his legs.

“It’d get messed up,” he points out. “Like you said, it wasn’t cheap.”

“I’d be very careful,” Harry says, running a hand up Dougie’s thigh.

“Keep doing that and you can do whatever the hell you want,” Dougie exhales.

“You like that, yeah?” Dougie can feel Harry’s mouth ghosting against his neck. Words are difficult to form aloud at this point, so he just whimpers as illustratively as he can. “How about, the dress comes off, but the stockings stay on?”

“Yeah,” is all Dougie can manage. Harry gently pulls the dress up, Dougie obediently lifts his arms when told to, and then Harry removes the knickers, too. Dougie pulls Harry’s shirt over his head and fumbles with his trousers; Harry takes them off himself, though he lets Dougie pull his boxers down.

“Lie on your back,” Harry points to the bed. Dougie obeys, biting his lip, watching Harry grab a box of condoms and a bottle of lube from a drawer. He drops them onto the bed and says, “Tell me if you’re not comfortable with something, if you want me to stop, or if I’m doing something wrong.” He leans down and kisses him slowly. “I mean it. You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

Dougie nods. Harry smiles, a real and lovely smile, and takes a condom out of the box. He plants a row of soft kisses up each of Dougie’s thighs, then rolls the condom onto him and follows it with his mouth.

Dougie arches at the sensation of a mouth on him, even through the condom. Harry pulls off to say, “Er — this is all right, isn’t it? I just thought it’d be best to be safe.”

“It’s fine,” Dougie gasps. “Don’t stop, _please_.”

“See, I thought you’d probably rather this,” he strokes the condom with one finger; Dougie squirms, “than I pull off at the last minute. Trust me, that’s not great.”

“No, no, no stopping,” Dougie nods. “Just. _Please_ ,” he tilts his hips.

Harry closes his mouth around Dougie’s cock again, humming softly, and Dougie groans. He fists the sheets, tugging, because Harry is sucking and curling his hand around the base and _fuck_ it feels amazing. It’s a bit sloppy, and it’s not as good as a mouth being right _there_ without anything in the way. It’s not wet like the two blowjobs he’s had before. He doesn’t really mind, though, because _Harry is blowing him_ and he comes after maybe three minutes.

Harry drops the condom into a bin and kisses Dougie a little desperately. “I want — is it all right if —” He hooks a finger into the hold-up on Dougie’s stockings and moans into his mouth.

“What, what?” Dougie asks between kisses.

“I want to fuck you,” Harry breathes. “I mean I want — um — can we try anal?”

“You can want to fuck me, it’s okay.” Dougie tries not to laugh.

“Yeah, but it sounds so crude,” Harry replies, and Dougie can’t not laugh at _that_. “Shut up,” Harry grins. “Let’s make love.”

Dougie lets out a snort of laughter. “Oh, Harry,” he says, over-the-top breathy and clutching at him, “Harry, make love to me!”

Harry stifles laughter in Dougie’s shoulder and gasps out, “Oh Dougie — Dougie, I thought you’d never ask!” They stop trying to suppress it and laugh until there’s banging on the ceiling. “Sorry,” Harry calls up, and they laugh into each other’s shoulders as quietly as they can.

“But seriously though,” Harry murmurs into Dougie’s neck, laughter still running through the sentence, “if I don’t screw you soon I’ll punch a wall.”

“That wouldn’t be good,” Dougie says, breath caught and amusement stilling, “we’d have to pay for repairs.”

Harry smiles at him, a gorgeous amused and fond smile, and Dougie quickly shoves away a thought about maybe they could get together and it’d be okay and the band would be fine and. He leans up and kisses Harry, who returns it slowly and deeply. “Do you want to have sex?” he breathes, when the kiss has eased up and he’s trailing his mouth over Dougie’s neck again. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

“Of course I fucking do, you knob,” Dougie says. “I think my stockings are falling down, though.”

Harry gives him an intensely hot look and slides off first one stocking, which was starting to roll down, and then the other. He drops them onto the floor, never once taking his eyes from Dougie’s, and whispers, “Turn over.”

Dougie starts to get hard again. He licks his lips and turns over, kneeling up and settling himself on all fours. “Is this okay?” he asks.

His answer is the crinkle of a condom wrapper and a strangled whimper. “Um — I’m, um — I’ll get you ready, okay?”

“Yeah,” Dougie nods. “I’m not a total ass virgin, so you know,” he adds as a very cold lube-covered finger gently enters him. “I’ve got toys, I’ve practiced things.”

“Okay,” Harry breathes. His voice is faint, his finger inside Dougie slightly shaking. He adds another, careful and slow.

“You all right?” Dougie asks, turning to look. Harry is breathing hard, eyes closed.

“I’m trying not to come,” he says, teeth gritted.

“Oh.” Dougie pushes onto his fingers, completely relaxing. “I’m nearly ready —”

“Shh,” Harry interrupts. “Don’t, don’t say that. Just — hush.”

Dougie hushes. Harry adds another finger and spreads them; Dougie looks back again to see how big Harry’s cock is. He should be stretched enough, so he pushes back again and says, “It’s okay.”

Harry takes his hand away and carefully, far too slowly, pushes his cock in. Dougie wriggles and relaxes around him and stays as quiet as possible. He feels full up in a really, _really_ satisfying way, and much as he wants Harry to come, he doesn’t want this to be over in five seconds. It feels _good_ , very very good, the kind of good Dougie would quite like to have on a regular basis.

Harry wraps a slick hand around Dougie’s mostly-hard cock and that’s it. Dougie moans and arches up so his back meets Harry’s chest; Harry half collapses onto him and starts thrusting haphazardly. It’s jerky and he doesn’t really move out and in all that much but Dougie doesn’t care because he is having _sex_ with _Harry_ and that’s hot enough without it being great sex. Harry makes an attempt at wanking Dougie off but his hand keeps going slack and after about ten seconds he just moves it to grip Dougie’s hip. His thrusts get more and more erratic as higher and higher tiny sounds escape his mouth, and then he comes with one last thrust that must have reached Dougie’s G-spot because he suddenly feels a stab of intense arousal.

Harry goes still for a few seconds, during which Dougie whimpers several times. “You’ve — you just — oh shit Harry, do that again, _please_ ,” Dougie pushes against him.

“Oh — oh did I — sorry,” Harry murmurs, pulling out slowly. “Wish I could.”

“Maybe — maybe you could, you know,” Dougie gestures wildly, “recover.”

Harry wipes his hands on a tissue after taking the condom off. “Hey,” he says, dropping the rubbish into the bin and shoving the lube bottle out of his way, “come here.” He lies next to Dougie and holds his arms out.

Dougie kisses him hard, and Harry pulls him on top; Dougie settles between his legs, Harry’s hand back on his cock, this time curled comfortably around and pulling gently. This, this he’s brilliant at, because he does little swirling things with his fingertips and knows what to do with the hood and if nothing else, Dougie really really hopes they can have a thing where they jerk each other off, because _shit_.

Harry is kissing him deeply, a contented calm sort of a kiss. It is very, _very_ frustrating. Dougie keeps trying to bite his lips, a staccato whimper gathering as Harry’s hand picks up speed but his kissing doesn’t. “Please,” Dougie whispers into his mouth.

“Please what?” Harry murmurs, one hand curling at the back of Dougie’s neck, the other in a delicious rhythm.

“Please, faster,” and kisses him desperately. Harry matches the pace, quickening his hand too, and Dougie comes after something like a minute of it, moaning and gasping.

Harry kisses him through the aftershocks, back to the slow calm sort of kissing. A warmth spreads through Dougie’s body, the feeling of everything being just fine. Harry gently cleans them both up, smiles at him, and pulls his boxers back on.

“I’d — I’ll go back to my room,” Dougie says, not wanting to move.

“Oh.” Harry nods. “You can stay, though, if you want.”

“I want,” Dougie says quickly. He smiles. “Thanks.”

They settle on their sides, Harry the big spoon. “Aren’t you going to put something on?” he whispers after a couple of minutes.

“Can’t be arsed,” Dougie shrugs. He’s getting hard again, because he can’t stop thinking about the sex they’ve just had, but that doesn’t mean he can be bothered to move or see why he should.

“Oh.” There’s silence for another few minutes. Harry’s arm is around him, loose, not too near Dougie’s growing hard-on.

“Why?” Dougie asks eventually.

“Um. Because this,” Harry says, pulling him closer until he feels an erection brushing up against him. “You’re — you’re naked,” Harry adds.

“If it’s a problem for you,” Dougie starts. Harry kisses his shoulder.

“Not a problem. Just …” Harry trails off, grinding slightly. “You’ll want to sleep, right?”

Dougie turns round. “Are you kidding?”

Harry yanks his boxers off and rolls on top of Dougie; it takes them a few tries to align their cocks up just right, but they get there in the end and rock against each other, frantically kissing, hands tangled in each other’s hair when they’re not grasping at each other’s hips. The friction isn’t great, but that somehow makes it _awesome_. Dougie hooks a leg over Harry’s hip, but the angle isn’t as good so he puts it down again; they try sitting up but that’s not great either so they lie back; Harry rolls Dougie on top and then rolls them to where they were before. Then they tilt their hips in a way that’s _much_ better and do their best to keep that position while rocking and thrusting, kissing and grasping.

Dougie breaks off the kiss to laugh. “We’re not all that good, are we?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Harry says, nuzzling his neck. “We’re having fun. You — are having fun, right?”

“Mmmm, sexy fun,” Dougie grins. Harry laughs as he leans down to get the kiss back; they’re both smiling and that somehow makes Dougie even happier than he already was.

The friction’s pretty nice now, and their hands are roaming more. Harry strokes a palm up and down Dougie’s thigh, which makes him moan and kiss Harry harder. Harry smiles into it and doesn’t stop touching Dougie’s thigh until he comes five or so minutes later. Harry bites his lip and groans when Dougie touches his stomach, so he keeps doing that and Harry thrusts against him for another few minutes until he comes, biting Dougie’s neck.

Harry cleans them up again and Dougie smiles nervously at him. “I liked that,” he says, and turns to grab his knickers from the floor so he doesn’t have to see Harry’s face. If this is a one-time thing, he doesn’t want to know.

“Hey,” Harry says, soft. They both pull their underwear on and settle back into the spooning. Harry pulls him close. “Hey,” he says again, “this isn’t going to get weird, is it?”

Dougie doesn’t say anything.

“Look, I don’t know about you, but I was thinking — Dougie, look at me.”

He doesn’t. Harry tries to turn him, but Dougie stays perfectly still, eyes closed, hoping this conversation won’t happen if he doesn’t say a word.

Harry gives up trying to move, and cuddles him instead. “Dougie, I like you. And you’re a good mate, and there’s the band but — what I’m saying is,” he talks faster as Dougie’s breath catches, heart sinking, “I think we have a shot at something great, with the band, but with us, too. Would you maybe want to try going out, see how it goes?”

His heart stops sinking and relocates to his chest, where it beats out a riff against his ribs. “Yeah, I’d want that,” he says.

“Okay. Good.” Harry kisses his shoulder softly. “Good.”

Dougie wakes up a few hours later bursting for the loo. He stumbles to the bathroom and then to his room before realising he’s in the wrong place; his sleep-addled brain tries to remember why being in his own room is wrong. Then he remembers, and stumbles back to Harry’s room to curl up in the circle of his arm. Harry grunts in his sleep; his arm is slack, but Dougie snuggles his back up against him and Harry hugs him weakly before relaxing again.

They get up late the next day. Dougie gets dressed in his room, putting his red knickers on underneath white boxers just because. Harry’s already downstairs by the time he gets there; he hands Dougie two slices of toast with a smile. Dougie beams at him.

“Aww, you two’re adorable.” Tom pokes Dougie in the side.

“Shut up.” Dougie pokes him back. “You missed a great night, you know.”

“You always say that, and I always have an awesome night here.” Tom shakes his head. Gi, who is sipping coffee and leaning against the counter, blushes.

“That good, eh?” Harry grins. “Our night wasn’t so bad either.” He puts an arm around Dougie’s waist and nuzzles his neck.

“So you two finally shagged, did you?” Danny calls over from the living room. Harry gives him the finger.

“Was that what that was last night, when you ditched us as soon as we got back?” Dougie asks.

“I’m not stupid,” Danny replies.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tom snorts. Danny runs up and tackles him.

It's as Dougie is stepping out of the way of Tom's flailing limbs, Harry's arm protectively around him as they both shake with laughter, that Dougie thinks, _Yeah, this could work_.


End file.
